Sunday, March 20, 2011

Woe Is Me

Sometimes I talk with Mike more often when he's in Guatemala than when he's home.  But not this trip.  They don't call it extreme for nothin'.  He left at 2am Wednesday morning and I've talked with him once on the phone for about 4 minutes in the last five days. I was at work with a ton going on and was very distracted, but I remember that he sounded up, and pretty much like everything was going great. Yeah, we'll go with that.

I think there was cell phone reception in the middle of the jungle only because they had hiked to the top of the mountain to this particular village.

In the meantime, I've gotten sick with the worst sore throat I've had since I was six when it took the doctor, the nurse, and my mother to hold me down for a strep throat swabbing -- perhaps my first traumatic childhood memory. The sore throat has a body guard:  a gargantuan headache that has been with me in varying degrees of severity since Friday.  I didn't sleep at all last night, have nursed about fifty-seven cups of green tea in the last seventy-two hours, giving my kidneys quite the workout, to no avail.  Today, body aches joined the party. 

So I am spending Sunday afternoon resting, hoping it will be enough to begin a whole new week on half a tank. 

I miss my guy. He's my shoulder-rubber, my vacuumer, the listener to my woes, and my driver to church when I don't feel so good -- among a host of other things he is to me.



So, Mike, if you can get wi-fi somewhere and  read this, don't let those cutie-pies in Guatemala lure you away for too long. Come home to me soon. I miss you.

{You are now invited to click here to see my dedication from it's original site.}
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